When Karen arrived at the White House, it was early afternoon on a day when she was not scheduled to work. She went to the lower level, directly beneath the vice president’s office, where the Secret Service had a break room and some offices, including Karen’s small space.
Duffy was there, getting something to eat from one of the vending machines. When he saw Karen his expression shifted, as though he’d seen a ghost. After his odd reaction he slipped back to the normal Duffy—a fixed and pointed stare, jutting jaw, and rigid posture.
He had his suit jacket off, and Karen could see the butt of his SIG Sauer sticking out from the Cloak Tuck IWB holster he wore. She used the same inside-the-waistband hybrid holster, which hid her gun so well no one ever suspected she was carrying. She also wore an ankle holster for her backup weapon—a Ruger LCPII .380 that weighed only 10.6 ounces unloaded. She carried a backup in times that called for heightened security. This was one such situation, but only Karen was on high alert.
“What are you doing here?” Duffy asked in a clipped tone. “I thought you were on vacation.”
“I came in to take care of some office work,” Karen said. “What’s Cam’s schedule for the rest of the day?”
“Home from school, just hanging out in his room,” Duffy said. “I’m bringing him to the TPI in a few hours for his afternoon practice. I’ll tell you, I think that kid’s coming around. This thing with Taylor Gleason has really gotten to him. All he wants to do is play, practice, and beat him.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll go talk to Cam. He’s having a private lesson today, no TPI. I already made the arrangements. His coach is going to come here this afternoon instead of Cam going there.”
“Why?”
“Ellen thinks Cam needs as much time at home as possible while he recuperates.”
Duffy seemed perplexed. “He’s feeling fine. I mean, he’s still Cam being Cam, moody and all that, but he’s up and about, no problems there.”
“Well, Ellen thinks it’s best he limit himself to school and home for the next few days.”
“All righty then. School and no TPI. Less for us to do. Fine by me.”
This plan had been hatched hours ago, when Lee had made his call to Ellen. She had been glad to arrange the meeting with you, but regretfully could not join herself. To keep Cam away from the institute without revealing their suspicion of Yoshi and maybe even Gleason, Lee simply voiced concern about Cam overdoing it, and suggested he limit his activities for the time being. This was something Ellen was happy to present as her own idea so that Gleason and President Hilliard would not take exception. The only one who might be disappointed would be Cam. For that reason, Karen would go to his room to break the news herself.
But first, something about Duffy continued to nag at her.
“What’s up with your financial situation?” she asked bluntly. “Are you fine about that for now? No major stress?”
Duffy took a big bite of the Snickers bar he had procured. “If the Nats don’t win tonight, I’m going to be a lot lighter in the wallet, but no, no major stress. Why do you ask?”
Duffy might have been joking, but his constant betting had Karen worried. Even Lapham had said something to her about it.
“You seem anxious to me is all. Be honest. Are you in any kind of trouble?”
“Only if I don’t get back to my post,” Duffy said, his trademark smirk returning. “My boss can be a real hard-ass at times.”
Duffy slipped his suit jacket on, giving Karen a chummy punch on her arm as he headed out the door.
* * *
KAREN TOOK the stairs to the second level. Once the White House had intimidated her, but that was ages ago. Now, it was just a home. Nannies to the rich and famous could probably relate.
While the tourists toured below, the second level was like a monastery and had a hush typical for this time of afternoon. Cam’s parents were away, busy as always. Woody Lapham was leading the security team at West Point, where Ellen was to give a speech highlighting the contributions of women to national defense throughout history. Seniority should have made it Duffy’s gig, but his medical condition made Karen rethink the assignments. These days, Duffy kept mostly to the White House and was part of the team shuttling Cam to school and back.
A separate team of agents had accompanied President Hilliard to Atlanta, where he was slated to speak at a major health-care summit. If Karen remembered his schedule correctly, he should arrive home in time for dinner, as was always his preference.
Walking down the hall, Karen could hear the steady pulse of Cam’s electronic music bleating out at ear-damaging decibels. She knocked on his bedroom door, got no answer, so she knocked again, harder and with more authority.
“Come in,” Cam yelled.
Inside, Cam’s shades were drawn. The blue glow of his computer monitor lit the room like a nightclub. A pile of video games lay on the floor near some clothes that should have been in his hamper. No surprise, Cam had a chess game going. He had to be multitasking, because Karen saw other windows on his monitor displaying computer code that to her untrained eyes read like gibberish.
Cam turned down the music.
“Who are you playing?” Karen asked.
“Taylor,” Cam said gloomily.
“Tell him I said hello.”
Cam typed something. “He says ‘hi’ back.”
Kids today, thought Karen, lamenting the inevitable demise of the phone call. Still, if Gleason were trying to give his son a competitive edge, Karen doubted Taylor was aware. He and Cam were friendly rivals, and that friendship seemed to be continuing despite the role reversal.
“Are you winning?” she asked.
Cam shook his head. “Nope. But he’s helping me dox some of the players I’m supposed to go up against at the world championships.”
“Dox?”
“Yeah, doxxing,” said Cam. “It’s computer stuff. Kind of a hacking thing. You know that group Anonymous?”
“Sure, vigilante hackers.”
“Right. Well, they do doxxing all the time. It’s basically hacking into systems, looking for public and private records to expose people, find secrets, that sort of thing. We try to get dirt on our competitors so we can trash talk during the match.”
“Chess players trash talk?”
Cam shrugged. “Might not be a contact sport, but it can be a pretty brutal game.”
“Where did you learn how to dox?” Karen said the word, still unsure what it meant.
“My computer club. It’s all right.”
“By ‘all right,’ I hope you mean legal.”
Cam said nothing and Karen decided to let it go. He could dox all he wanted if it helped lift his spirits.
“Mind if I turn on some lights?” she asked.
Cam shrugged. She flicked a switch and blinked until her eyes adjusted to the glow.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Cam said. “You know—the usual. I’m losing to a kid I normally beat. Again. What does that tell you?”
“That’s something is still up.”
“Yeah. Something.”
Karen decided to switch topics. “I talked with your mom, and she wants you to stay home as much as possible. That means no trips to the TPI for a while. Just school and back, until you fully recover from surgery.”
Cam spun around in his desk chair, looking frustrated. “If I don’t practice, I’m going to get crushed at the tournament. Taylor might as well go ahead and take my spot.”
“Your instructor is going to come here instead,” Karen said. “It’s all been arranged.”
Cam shrugged his acquiescence, though a glum expression remained. “Okay. I just want my old self back, you know?”
“I do, buddy,” Karen said, giving his shoulder a tender squeeze. Turning, she scanned his desk, trying to be discreet about it. He had schoolbooks open, a good sign. It meant he was still showing interest in his studies. She was curious about his work. Having dedicated so much of her life to protecting Cam, watching out for him, seeing him grow and change, it was hard not to feel like an overprotective parent at times. But the impulse was there and Karen did nothing to fight it.
“Everything good at school?” she asked. A little conversation might make it seem less like snooping, she reasoned.
“Yeah, it’s all right.” Cam had his one-syllable-word thing down pat.
She poked through a stack of his school papers. There was a history quiz. A+. A science lab. A+. Some notes from English class. All seemed normal, good even. Cam was dealing with a lot, but he appeared to be holding his own.
Then her eyes went to a piece of paper partially hidden underneath one of his notebooks. It was a printout from a word processing program. No name, no date, no heading at all, just the same two sentences repeated over and over again.
I know what you are. I know what you do.
I know what you are. I know what you do.
When she closed the notebook, Karen saw those sentences spanned the length of the page.
I know what you are. I know what you do.…
“Cam, what’s this about?” Karen asked, holding up the sheet for Cam to see.
“It’s nothing,” he said, avoiding Karen’s eyes.
She could tell right away his nothing was really something.
“I’m just curious, Cam,” Karen said, using softer tactics.
Cam rose from his chair and reached for the paper. “It’s nothing,” he said, crumpling the page when Karen handed it to him. “I was just goofing off with some friends at school. That’s all.”
Cam did not act like it was nothing, and Karen was not quite ready to give up on her inquiry. She thought about what he had said to Lee after his eye exam.
Dr. Gleason’s a liar.
“Is this about Dr. Gleason?” she asked.
“No,” Cam said. He paused before answering, his head subtly nodding yes. Karen knew the brain was wired in such a way as to cause verbal and nonverbal behaviors to naturally match up. Cam might have picked up a lot of useful skills from the TPI, but lying was not one of them.
“You said something to Lee about Dr. Gleason being a liar. What did you mean by that?”
Instead of answering, Cam turned his back to Karen, a clear signal that this conversation had come to an end.